What is a kiss?
by SnowyCursedRain
Summary: He remembered her. He had seen her around the highschool, laughing and chatting with her other misfit bunch of friends. He had seen her on senior-prank night, grinning at him devilishly and holding out the box of mouse traps towards him. He remembered how he had offered her the slightest of smirks and a bag of crickets. He still had the yearbook that held proof of it all.


**What is a kiss?**

(AN: My first one-shot attempt. I hope you all like this becuase I kinda busted my brain to get the idea out ^^.)

(All characters are belong to Sega)

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He remembered her.

He had seen her around the highschool, laughing and chatting with her other misfit bunch of friends. He had seen her on senior-prank night, grinning at him devilishly and holding out the box of mouse traps towards him. He remembered how he had offered her the slightest of smirks and a bag of crickets. He still had the yearbook from that year that held proof of how they had gone down in history as the best pranksters of their school. He chuckled sarcastically at the thought because, despite it all-the pranks, the hidden smiles, the late night phone calls-, she still hadn't remembered him.

He could list her traits, her quirks, her _gifts. _He could tell her friends more about her than they themselves knew. He could go on forever, but he didn't. He didn't have to. She hadn't _remembered. _She had promised to remember him; she wrote it in his senior yearbook in huge-it took up a whole page-swirly lettering. A sincere-or at least he had _thought _it had been sincere-"You are my best friend." Yet there she was, sitting in his production class and smiling at one of her eccentricfriends with her back to him. And he had tried _so_ hard to make her remember him…

He felt his fists close tightly, maybe too tightly, as his nails dug into his dark coat. He ignored the stares he received as he slammed his pen onto his paper and began to write. Words, scrawled hastily onto lined paper, not sentences flew from his pen, from his mind. Simple things, with so much meaning, complex things, withdrawn from the recessives of his mind, took life on the paper.

_Hope_

_Desperation_

_Amelia__-_he scribbled over that just as wild as he had written it.

_Hunger_

_Hate_

_Grief _

_Lo-_

Maybe he would have finished that word if it had not been for his persistent teacher, his mentor, calling his name. Maybe he would have returned to writing. Maybe. But not when his teacher called _her _name too…

Mixed emotions running high, fear and confusion were unknown to him, as he stood before his peers. Next to her. A voice that started shaky. A melody played perfectly.

"A-and what is a kiss specifically? A pledge properly sealed-"

"A promise seasoned to taste?"

"-a vow stamped with the immediacy of a lip-" She had seen him by now, heard the dark tone of his voice, the purr hidden far underneath that wanted desperately to be released once again. She had finally _noticed him. _Maybe she even remembered him…

"A rosy circle drawn around the verb 'to love.' A kiss is a message too intimate for the ear, infinity captured in the bee's brief visit to a flower-"

"Secular communication with an aftertaste of heaven, the pulse rising from the heart to utter its name on a lover's lips:-" Just as he had cut her off, she cut him off, to finish his line. To finish his suffering.

"Forever." He watched her smile at him and wink devilishly. He had missed that. So maybe she hadn't forgotten him after all?

"Wonderful, thank you both for your…different version of how to speak this line. Though, not how addressed in the play, it was a great interpretation. Thank you Miss Rose and Shadow, you may take your seats."

Instead of doing as he was asked, he found himself being torn away from his march to be confronted with two vast oceans of green. His soul swam hopelessly in them, staring back at him as she smirked playfully with a laugh.

"Where've you been Shadow? You were supposed to call me so we could try to get a dorm together!" So maybe he had been avoiding her...

It was still her fault.

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AN: So? Did you like it, hate it? Constructive critisim would be nice :D Thank you~!

The line about the kiss is from Edmond Rostand's Cyrano de Bergerac


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